


amalgamation of broken heartstrings

by deathsweetqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Civilian Tony Stark, Dubious Morality, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Meet-Cute, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: Tony begs away from the charity night, heading towards the bathroom, where he lingers for an extra long moment. He washes off the feeling of corruption from his body before he has to go back out there and pretend all over again, pretend so that Ty won’t feel bad about himself.He makes it to the bathroom, his eyes unfocused, and then, he’s tumbling onto the edge of the marble counter, staring at his face in the mirror, the sweat dappling his brow. His lips are damp with champagne, and he traces a thumb over his lower lip. He runs his hand through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp, making it artfully messy.When he turns around, his brain shuts down, mostly because it would take any human being a minute or two to process what Tony’s seeing in front of him.There’s a body on the floor, bleeding from a head wound onto the clean, white tiles. There’s a man standing over the body, his hair long and pulled back into a neat bun at the base of his neck, streaks of grease paint around his eyes, and a mask covering the lower half of his head, like a muzzle.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Tiberius Stone
Comments: 64
Kudos: 519
Collections: Fandom For Australia





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepoverwork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepoverwork/gifts).



> This was written for letsallsleepoverwork for her lovely, amazing donation to Fandom For Australia, who asked for this AU: you just witnessed me kill a guy and I have a really, really good reason for it, please don’t call the cops.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: complicated moral decisions around death and murder, implied/referenced domestic violence.

Tony begs away from the charity night, heading towards the bathroom, where he lingers for an extra long moment. He washes off the feeling of corruption from his body before he has to go back out there and pretend all over again, pretend so that Ty won’t feel bad about himself.

The corridors of this mansion are a winding maze, and he’s slightly tipsy from all of the champagne that he’s picked up off all of the trays that the waiters had brought around.

He makes it to the bathroom, his eyes unfocused, and then, he’s tumbling onto the edge of the marble counter, staring at his face in the mirror, the sweat dappling his brow. His lips are damp with champagne, and he traces a thumb over his lower lip. He runs his hand through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp, making it artfully messy.

He forces his mouth to stretch up in a smile, like it’s an old, snug mask that is as close to him to as a best friend.

It’s as fake as the rest of the people in that ballroom.

When he turns around, his brain shuts down, mostly because it would take any human being a minute or two to process what Tony’s seeing in front of him.

Of course, Tony’s a superior being, the next stage of evolution in their species, as Rhodey likes to joke, and so, it takes him ten seconds at the most.

There’s a body on the floor, bleeding from a head wound onto the clean, white tiles. There’s a man standing over the body, his hair long and pulled back into a neat bun at the base of his neck, streaks of grease paint around his eyes, and a mask covering the lower half of his head, like a muzzle.

He’s taller than Tony, at least by a hand, and he’s wearing Kevlar, which covers a sinewed body that looks like it could crack Tony’s head against the wall and spill his brains out onto the floor with a single push.

There are at least half a dozen weapons that Tony can see on his person. Three guns, one knife, a grenade and a Kalashnikov strapped to his back.

The man is looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Shit,” Tony blurts out, and then he’s running towards the exit.

A hand covers his mouth and drags him back before his hand can grab the doorknob, and suddenly, his back is pressed up against a hard body, the stranger’s heart beating against the notches of his spine.

“Please, please, just listen to me,” a grim, dark voice whispers in his ear.

Tony starts struggling almost immediately, his arms and legs flailing wildly against the hold across his body.

“There’s a dead guy on the floor,” he hisses, when the hand leaves his mouth. “What the fuck do you expect me to do in this position?”

“Listen, I know how this looks-”

“-but you didn’t kill him? Is that what you’re going to say?”

“No, I killed him,” the man says, bluntly.

“What the _fuck_ , dude?” Tony snaps.

“Don’t be so loud,” the man insists and then, turns him bodily, so that he can press him up against the door and they’re face to face.

Tony’s body falls loose and heavy, and the man’s hands are enormous and everywhere.

Finally, he can see the blue-grey in the man’s eyes, see his handsome face.

“I know how this looks,” the man says, almost soothingly.

“Yeah, it looks like you _killed_ someone and you’re probably going to kill me or steal my skin to stop me from telling anyone that you _killed_ someone,” Tony barks at him.

“That’s not what’s going to happen here, if we can just have a conversation,” the man replies.

He leans back, so that Tony has room to breathe, and the warm flush of his body disappears. Tony suddenly feels cold.

He shakes his head.

“A conversation about what?” he asks, coldly.

“This guy,” and then, the man delivers a savage kick into the man’s corpse.

Tony makes a soft, disgusted noise.

“Look, he’s not what you think,” the man tells him, and then, removes his muzzle.

God, the lower half of his face is just as handsome as the upper half.

“Do you know who this guy is?” the man asks him, seriously.

Tony shrugs. “Some rich, white asshole going to do his good deed of the year by donating to this charity that he doesn’t know anything about?” he offers.

“Well, yeah,” the man admits, grudgingly. “But…” he fishes in the man’s suit pocket, pulling out a sleek phone.

He tosses it to Tony, who catches it barely in his cupped hands.

“Open it,” the man instructs.

“What if it’s locked?” Tony protests. His eyes widen. “Oh, my God. _Oh, my fucking God_. My fingerprints are all over this phone. This was just a fake-out, wasn’t it? You’re just trying to get my prints over this phone so when the cops come, they’ll arrest me for his murder-”

The man rolls his eyes. “You watch too much TV,” he drawls, almost amused. “Open the phone. It’s not locked.”

Tony peers down at the phone in his hand and switches it on, the screen opening right to the dashboard.

“What a fucking moron,” he mutters. “Who doesn’t have a passcode for their phone?”

The man snorts. “You won’t see any complaints from me. Look at his gallery.”

Tony frowns and opens up the app. “These are just photos from his latest holiday. Aspen, what a surprise,” he says, full of derision.

“Look at the photos in the _family time_ folder,” the man offers.

Tony frowns at him but nevertheless opens up the folder. He almost drops the phone onto the floor, but the man catches it deftly between his fingers.

“That is…”

Oh, my God, Tony is going to be sick.

He’s going to vomit all over the floor that contains a dead body of a man who had fucking _kiddie porn_ on his phone.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s snarling with his lips pulled back and slamming his foot down hard on the dead man’s genitals, so hard that he hopes when they do an autopsy, they decide that his penis was crushed so thoroughly that there was never any way that they could reconstruct it to make it look normal again, even if the guy’s going to be wearing clothes during his funeral.

“So, you see why I killed him,” the man says, satisfied.

Tony looks at him, incredulously. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t know why you killed him. How did you even know he had that shit on his phone? Why are you wearing that mask and fucking combat armour that could stop a Tellor Propellant Rifle?”

The man blinks at him in surprise. “You know that my armour can stop a Tellor Propellant Rifle?”

“I’m Tony Stark. I design and make them for a living,” Tony hisses. Then, he pales. “Oh, shit, maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.”

There’s a knock on the door. They both freeze, and Tony is staring, horrified, at the dead body on the floor.

“Tony?”

It’s Ty.

“Tony, baby, you okay? You’re missing out on dessert.”

The killer’s eyes are big and round in his face and he’s making several silent motions with his hands and lips, asking Tony to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, I’m just not feeling well,” Tony says

“You okay?”

“Yeah, like I said, I’m not feeling well,” Tony calls back.

“You sure? It’s tiramisu.”

“Does it have egg in it?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tony, do you have to be so fucking nit-picky about everything?” Ty snaps at him. “These people made you a good dinner, Tony, invited you to a great night out; the least you could do-”

“Ty, I just told you that I wasn’t feeling well,” Tony retorts, feeling the flush of shame rise over the nape of his neck. “Is this really the conversation you want to be having with me right now?”

“Fine, you stay in here if you’d like; the fuck do I care,” Ty grumbles, and Tony waits until he hears the sound of footsteps receding.

“Wow, is that your boyfriend?” the man asks, cocking his head.

“Don’t start,” Tony warns.

“‘Cause he’s kind of a dick,” the man goes on.

“What did I _just_ say about starting,” Tony hisses.

The man holds his hands up, as if surrendering.

Tony drags his hand over his face. “Start from the beginning,” he says, terse and clipped.

“Okay,” the man says, quickly. “My name’s Bucky Barnes. I’m from Brooklyn.”

“Wow, I didn’t think that they made many assassins in Brooklyn,” Tony says, sarcastically.

“I thought you wanted me to talk?” the man says, sharply.

“Fine, fine,” Tony says.

“I was in the army. 107th Infantry Regiment. I joined up when I was eighteen and just out of school,” Bucky starts explaining. “I was on a couple of tours in Iraq, Afghanistan. When I was on my last tour seven years ago in Afghanistan, there was an attack on our convoy. Friendly fire, so we thought, but it was this terrorist group that had managed to get the help of the Afghanis. All my men were dead, and I was still awake, but my arm… it was, uh, it was chopped off at the elbow, bleeding everywhere.”

New bile rises in Tony’s throat.

“Before I even knew what was happening, these guys were coming up to me. They knocked me out and dragged me out of the desert. When I woke up, I was on a metal table in some strange room, and they’d… they’d cut off my entire arm at the shoulder, replaced it with _this_ ,” he says, flexing his metal arm, a red star over the triceps. “I tried to fight them off. It didn’t work,” he says, his voice cracking towards the edges. “And then, there was this machine. It was like a dentist chair, and there were these parts to it, like this helmet that came around his head, you know, like something from A Clockwork Orange. It was… it was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced,” he says, ruefully. “Even more than losing the arm, if that’s even possible. It was like… it was like they were shearing off bits of my brain, little by little, until there was nothing left, so they could put whatever they want inside.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to see the picture,” Tony rasps.

“The next couple of years are sort of a blur,” Bucky tells him, like it’s some dark, twisted, shameful thing. “I didn’t remember anything. I didn’t remember my own name, my mother’s face, what my sister’s birthday was, what my best friend did for a living. I didn’t remember _anything_. All I did was kill people, for them, again and again. They’d give me names, locations, and I’d go and find the person and I’d kill them. I murdered men at dinner with their wives and children, and I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t even know _how_ to stop myself. And that went on for years and years, until one of my missions that this terrorist group sent me on, led me to Brooklyn.”

“Where you were from,” Tony says, softly.

Bucky nods. “I came across an artist, and he happened to be my best friend. I didn’t recognise him; he recognised me, wouldn’t let me leave. I almost beat the shit out of him, put him in the hospital, but I don’t know... I don’t know what it was, but I remembered him. The longer I stayed away, the more I remembered, and the more what they’d done to me faded away. And so, in response-”

“You decided to hunt down the people who did this to you,” Tony guesses.

Bucky blinks at him. “Yeah…” he says, slowly. “How did you know that?”

“Because it was kind of obvious,” Tony says, simply.

“Oh,” Bucky says, lamely.

“So, what does this evil bastard have to do with that?” Tony asks, curiously, kicking at the corpse again.

“He’s HYDRA.”

“He’s a United States senator,” Tony says carefully, bemused.

“Yeah, and he’s HYDRA.”

“So, you killed him,” Tony says. “Did you kill him because he’s HYDRA or because he has kiddie porn on his phone?”

“Both,” Bucky says.

“Great,” Tony sighs.

“So, you know, if you wouldn’t tell the police, that would be really great.”

“And I’d be doing that because?”

“Because I just removed an evil piece of shit from this universe,” Bucky says, flatly.

“And I should be thanking you?” Tony demands.

“No, I’m just saying that you might want to do me a favour.”

“You literally just killed someone in front of me; why the fuck would I want to do you a favour?” Tony asks, incredulously.

“Because you’re involved now,” Bucky says, bluntly.

“Oh, my God, I knew it. _I knew it_ ; you were just trying to bring me into the fold so that you could blackmail me into covering for you,” Tony hisses, offended.

“Yeah, well, get over it,” Bucky grumbles.

Tony grinds his teeth. “I have the overwhelming urge to call you a miserable cunt right now.”

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Bucky taunts.

Tony gives him the finger. “Okay, fine, what do we do right now?”

Bucky drags his eyes over the length of Tony’s body in a sterile, clinical way. “You’re sweaty, but you’ve got no blood on you, so you should be able to go back out there and pretend like you’re just not feeling too good.”

“Oh, well, thank you for that,” Tony says, dryly.

“I’ll handle things here,” Bucky offers.

“Thank you for that too,” Tony says, snidely, and with his back, he pushes the door open, and strides back down the corridor back to the party.

Ty reacts as Tony expects, with all of the disgust that he can possibly bear in that tall, thin body, considering that Tony had embarrassed him by hiding out in the bathroom all night. The ‘date’ ends in a terrible fight between the two of them, and Ty throws Tony out of the limo in the middle of the street, forcing him to walk back to his Manhattan penthouse.

Suddenly, a motorbike pulls up in front of him.

“Back off, I have a taser in my pocket,” Tony snaps.

The rider removes his helmet, revealing a handsome, familiar face. “Do you?” Bucky asks, amused.

“You,” Tony hisses. “Haven’t you done enough?”

Bucky shrugs. “I had to make sure you weren’t going to stop at a police station on your way home.”

“So, you decided to follow me?” Tony gapes at him in disbelief.

“Sure did,” Bucky says, cheerfully. He pauses. “You sure you don’t want a ride back to your place? Your boyfriend’s a dick.”

“Is this a way of you trying to trick me into going back to your place so you can steal my skin?”

“You have a really creepy obsession with people stealing your skin; has anyone ever told you that?” Bucky says, slowly.

“That’s because it could happen!” Tony argues.

“Look, you have two choices in front of you,” Bucky says, with a roll of his eyes. “You either get on my bike, and I drive you back to your shiny penthouse in the sky, or you can freeze to death on your way back and most likely get mugged for those fancy cufflinks of yours because your boyfriend was too much of a fucking prick to drop you off.”

“And you won’t mug me for my fancy cufflinks?” Tony challenges.

“Doll, if I were going to mug you, I’d be going straight for your bank accounts,” Bucky scoffs.

Tony snorts. “What makes you think you could touch my bank accounts?”

“I’m an internationally-renowned assassin,” Bucky says, smugly.

Tony saunters close and climbing onto the back of the bike, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder so that he can lean in close to scent Bucky’s cologne.

“And I made Skynet,” he murmurs. “He’d kill you.”

Bucky pauses. “Did you really make Skynet?” he asks, with a suspicious edge to his voice.

Tony laughs, softly, the way that he laughs to make a guy hard in his jeans. “He prefers to be called JARVIS. Now, drive.”

“Bossy, I like that,” Bucky drawls, and pulls the bike into gear.

* * *

Tony sits up on the couch when he hears someone rattling at the lock on the front door.

Only one person would be stupid enough to try this after he specifically warned him against it.

“JARVIS?” he says, hesitantly.

“There is a man attempting to force his entry into the lake house, sir,” JARVIS replies, promptly, with a slight concerned edge to the mechanical tone of his voice.

“Okay, how worried should I be?”

Maybe it’s Godzilla.

“I suggest that you phone the appropriate authorities-”

“-who are two hours away,” Tony reminds him.

“-and I am prepared to enact Protocol Fatal Attraction,” JARVIS offers. “Shall I?”

“Shit,” he hears from the outside.

Tony smiles.

“Don’t worry about it, J. I know exactly who’s on the other side.”

The door bursts open with a splinter of wood, and a man stands in the doorway, dark Kevlar and mask and kohl painted around his eyes, gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” Tony asks, lifting his wine glass in his direction.

Bucky stalks towards him, and he feels that frission of fear slide through his veins, like cold, heavy lead.

“Should I be running?” he offers.

Bucky pads closer, without saying anything.

Tony carefully places the wine glass on the coffee table and throws himself over the back of the couch, landing on the balls of his feet.

“Are we really doing this cat and mouse thing?” he says, slyly, a blaze of heat curling in his belly.

God, he’s a terrible person; he has a boyfriend, and here he is, panting after a fucking assassin who killed a pedophile right in front of him (or he supposes, right behind him because when Tony turned around, the bastard was already dead on the floor, but it must have happened while he was in the room, so the sentiment stands) like he’s a bitch in heat.

Bucky removes his mask. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he says, his blue-grey eyes shining.

“Should I start running?” Tony asks, worrying his teeth on his lower lip.

“It would probably be the best idea.”

And so, Tony starts running.

Bucky’s fast, fast like nothing else, and Tony begins to become breathless, as he dodges the dark shadow that seems to flit through the entire lake house.

Finally, Bucky corners him in the kitchen, pins him up against the fridge with a knife against his throat, both of them breathing hard and fast.

“Sir,” JARVIS says, alarmed. “Sir, my cameras are showing a very distressing scene. I have standing instructions from you to engage with Protocol Fatal Attraction in such situations-”

“It’s a game, J. Stand down,” Tony says, without taking his eyes off Bucky.

Bucky is a solid wall of muscle pressed up against Tony’s smaller, leaner body, and for a brief second, there’s nothing but jagged, primal heat all over his body, like he’s a fucking teenager and he can’t wait to get his dick wet, to have someone inside him, and he almost wants to rub up against him like a cat in heat, even with the cold bite of steel pressed against the hollow of his throat.

From the obscene, relentless look in his eyes, Bucky wants the same thing, wants to crawl into Tony’s body and make his home there the same way that Tony wants to.

“I just wanted to have dinner with you,” Bucky tells him, his voice barely above a rasp, like grinding stone.

 _Dinner or more_ , he almost says, and then, like a rush of ice water all over his head, Tony remembers Ty.

He plants the heels of his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and shoves him back.

“Keep it in your pants, Bucko,” he drawls.

Bucky cracks a smile. “You really do love it,” he says, smugly.

“You really came here to have dinner with me?” Tony asks, incredulously.

“Yeah, what d’you got?”

“That’s the worst piece of grammar I’ve heard in a while,” Tony says, flatly.

Bucky’s busy rummaging through the cupboards. He picks out a packet of chips and tears them open like a rabid dog, digging his hands in with a look of glee.

“Can you please be more civilised?” Tony hisses, yanking the packet away from him.

The packet splits down the side, and suddenly, it’s raining salty, potato goodness all over them, and the floor is littered with them.

Bucky lifts his foot and drops it back down, and the chips crack and crumble all over.

“Oh, my God, you did that on purpose,” Tony accuses.

Bucky looks guilty. “I just wanted to see what sound it would make.”

“You are… how do you even get around normal society every day?” Tony demands.

Bucky shrugs. “It’s a burden, I’ll admit, but I spent half a decade as the punching bag of a fucked-up secret society that wanted to murder the world, so my reintegration into society has left me without a few social niceties.”

“Wow, sure, use the torture victim card,” Tony mutters under his breath.

Bucky gives him a shit-eating grin. “You got a broom so we can clean this up?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, warily, and pulls his feet out of his slippers so that he can get on his toes and pad over to the linen cupboard and fish out the broom and pan, without having to scrape the fragments out of the soles.

By the time he returns to the scene of the crime, Bucky has his hands full of damp paper towels as he tries to wipe up as much of the mess as he can. As soon as he throws the potato-chipped towels into the trash, Tony thrusts out the broom at him.

“Excuse me?” Bucky eyes it like it’s made of snakes— deadly, venomous snakes.

“You took the chips out of the cupboard,” Tony points out.

“You _ripped_ them!”

“Because you were eating them like an animal!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but not a lot of people grow up learning how to eat with twelve fucking forks!”

“It’s not _that_ hard, but you do have to have at least a modicum of intelligence to be able to learn proper etiquette,” Tony says, snidely.

“Wow, you really are a rich bitch, aren’t you?”

Tony fixes him with a glare, noting how his blue-grey eyes still seem hot, as if he’s still thinking about how easy it would be to pin Tony against the nearest hard surface and take his clothes off.

Goosebumps rush across his skin, and he wraps his arms around himself.

“Clean the damn chips up,” Tony grunts, “or you won’t get any macaroni.”

Bucky’s eyes light up. “You’re making me macaroni?” he asks, excitedly, like he’s not actually a man in his twenties but more like he’s five.

“I was making macaroni for _myself_ ,” Tony corrects. “I suppose I’ll just have to make more food,” he says, grudgingly.

Bucky holds a hand to his heart. “You’re too good to me, Tony.”

“I will kick you in the balls,” Tony threatens.

“Is that what foreplay’s like with you?” Bucky asks, curiously.

“You wish.” Tony rolls his eyes. “And seriously, you know I have a boyfriend; do you have, like, _no_ boundaries?”

“Like I said, my reintegration into society has left me without a few social niceties,” Bucky says, slowly. “Which means, yes, I have no boundaries. Plus, I’ve met your boyfriend-”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Fine, I’ve heard him through a door, and I’ve seen his car drive away after he left you in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night in fucking New York where you might have been raped or mugged for your fucking sneakers. Ergo, I’m not impressed, and I also don’t feel guilty about macking on his boyfriend, and frankly, you shouldn’t either.”

“Wow, thank you so much for your permission,” Tony says, sarcastically. “But I’m not a cheater.”

Bucky shrugs. “So, dump him.”

“And sleep with you?” Tony asks, incredulously.

“No, date me,” Bucky says, firmly.

Tony’s brain shuts down at that. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice sliding high.

“Date me,” Bucky repeats, tilting his head.

“We don’t even know each other, and you want to _date_ me?” Tony gapes at him in disbelief.

Bucky shrugs. “You’re wicked smart; you’re brave; you’re loyal; you’ve got good morals; we’d make pretty babies together, the perfect milk chocolate-”

“Oh, my God,” Tony says, breathlessly, covering his face with his hand.

“You know, because you’re brown,” Bucky says it like Tony hadn’t understood what he was getting at, “besides, I watched a video on YouTube of you taking apart a gun with your bare hands and I came. So, I know we have great sexual chemistry.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony hisses, stomping his foot.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “I thought you were Indian. Isn’t that like… blasphemous or something?”

“For your information, there are Christians in India,” Tony bites out.

Bucky stares at him, plainly. “Are you _one_ of them?”

“No,” Tony admits, gritting his teeth. “But still, saying _Jesus Christ_ as an expletive is practically a necessary part of American culture at this point.”

Bucky’s smile spreads across his face like a thick spread of honey. “I want to fuck you on this table,” he says.

“Oh, my God,” Tony says, as the colour rises high in his face.

“I want to make you scream that,” Bucky declares, without missing a beat.

“Keep it in your pants, Lothario, and sit down, so I can make the macaroni and cheese,” Tony snaps at him, making his way over to the stove.

Bucky sits at the table, obediently, watching him intently, every little shift of his hands and feet, and Tony feels like a butterfly trapped under a microscope slide. He putters away at the stove, cooking the pasta first, and then the cheese sauce, dosed liberally by Kraft cheese powder. When it’s done, he scoops two heaping spoonfuls into a bowl and presents it to Bucky, who rubs his hands together in glee.

“Yum,” he declares, and spears his fork straight through the yellow-orange mess. “I think cheese might be the greatest invention of mankind,” he says once he’s swallowed.

“Didn’t that burn your tongue?” Tony asks, scrunching up his face.

Bucky shrugs. “I’ve had worse. Torture, remember?”

“Oh,” Tony says, lamely.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the empty seat across from him at the dining table.

Tony carefully sits opposite Bucky, with his own bowl, and slides the spoon into his mouth. After he’s done chewing and swallowing his first bite, he peers at Bucky carefully.

“So, how did you find this place?”

Bucky preens. “Hey, you’re not the only one who’s got a thing with computers."

Tony narrows his eyes. “So, you hacked me?”

“No, actually, I just followed you here,” Bucky explains, honestly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I parked my bike outside the tower, and when your chauffeur came out, I knew you weren’t in that car, so I waited for the next one. I saw you in the driver’s seat, and I followed you.”

“That is creepy,” Tony says, pointing his empty spoon at him.

Bucky shrugs. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?” Tony asks, confused.

“Because we have a connection,” Bucky says, softly, holding his hand to his heart.

“Give me a fucking _break_.”

Bucky’s face falls. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

He stares at Tony with those handsome, hang-dog eyes of his, and suddenly, Tony’s anger is washed away.

“No, you didn’t,” Tony admits, grudgingly. “Just… you know, eat your macaroni.”

Bucky grins around the next bite.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: domestic violence and explicit sexual content.

When Tony returns to civilisation, Ty is waiting for him.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Ty demands, when Tony strides into the penthouse.

He’s sitting on the couch, having made himself at home with a decanter of scotch on the coffee table.

“I was on vacation,” Tony replies, flatly. “You know, it’s this thing where you go away for some time because you’re sick of work and life around you.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tony,” Ty snaps, lunging to his feet. “Don’t pretend like I’m an idiot, okay. You just disappeared off the face of the earth. I called you like a thousand times. You didn’t pick up your phone; no one would even tell me where you were, not even your stupid AI,” he says, flinging a glower up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, because I didn’t _want_ you to know,” Tony points out.

“How is that fucking fair?” Ty asks, incredulously. “Shit, Tony, I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, and no one was telling me where you _were_!”

He sounds absolutely distraught, and Tony has known Ty for too long to not be able to pick out the moments where Ty is just pretending to be a human being.

His heart flips in his chest at the sight – despite everything that he knows about their relationship, he knows that Ty loves him, loves him like he would peel the skin from Tony’s bones and climb inside his body to live there until the end of time.

Tony loves him that way as well, which is why it’s so hard to let him go, to draw that line, to throw him away and know that he can never touch him again.

“Ty, you left me on the sidewalk and made me _walk_ home by myself in the middle of the fucking night,” Tony says, slowly. “Did you think I wanted to see you after that?”

Ty drags his hand over his face, looking a decade older than he really is. “Look, I know that was a shitty move,” he says, honestly. “Baby, I didn’t mean to… you were making me angry, and I thought… I thought that if you stayed in that limo with me for a second longer, things were going to end really badly.”

 _Well, at least he’s being honest_ , Tony muses.

“Like you were going to hit me?” Tony raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Because, babe, I thought you only did that when we were drunk, and you could blame it on my inability to stand upright when I’d had some vodka in me.”

The colour is high in Ty’s face, as he rounds the couch, approaching him like one would a skittish cat, with his palms outstretched.

“Tony, I don’t understand-”

“Don’t play games with me,” Tony says, a dangerous edge to his voice. “I love you, Ty. I’ve loved you since I was a boy and despite everything that you’ve done to me and I imagine you will continue to do to me, I will love you still, because I’ve always love the bad things in my life. But for fuck’s sake, don’t treat me like an idiot.”

Ty wrings his hands together. “Look, it’s not what you think it is-”

“That’s what you should say to me when I catch you getting sucked off by the waitress in the restaurant that we went to last night,” Tony points out. “Not when I’ve just accused you of _beating_ me, you fucking moron.”

“It’s the alcohol, I _swear_. I don’t know what comes over me when I’m drunk-”

“No, Ty,” Tony says, derisively, “it’s _you_.”

Ty’s mouth shuts with a snap.

“And it’s because it’s me,” Tony says as well, his voice turning heavy at the edges. “And I’m not saying that in a way that I think it’s _my_ fault that you hit me or you treat me like shit or you think that I’m unworthy enough for you to shove out of the fucking car in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, but I mean that you have a problem with _me_. That’s not my fault, of course; that’s all on you, but you… you have never forgiven me for the fact that I’m smarter than you, that I’m richer than you, that I’m more _important_ than you, more significant, the fact that you are always going to be a footnote in _my_ biography.”

Ty’s face curdles into an expression of bitter, seething hatred.

Tony pushes on, even as the fear slithers against his lungs.

“You can’t get over that, can you?” he asks, coldly. “You hated it when we were kids, and everyone always looked at me, and you comforted yourself with the thought that _I_ loved you, _I_ wanted you, that the only son of the great and powerful Howard Stark only ever looked at you, because he was that _stupid_ , because he believed that you were the only one that would ever _love_ him-”

“And that’s what this is, is it?” Ty demands, cutting him off. “You’ve realised that other people can _love_ you. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Tony. Is that what this is about? Have you been fucking someone else?”

“Fucking hell,” Tony hisses.

Ty’s face lights up with savage intention. “Let me guess, this started with the night that I told you to get out of the limo? You met someone else that night? Probably stopped by a bar for a drink, ‘cause you can never resist the pull, can you? And some poor shmuck came up to you, probably recognised you from your fucking Wikipedia page and made you out for a mark. I mean, everyone in the fucking world knows we make plenty of money that they can scavenge from-”

Tony snorts. “I make plenty of money; you make peanuts,” he retorts.

Ty scowls absolute murder. “And you just fell for it didn’t you?” he asks, disgust lining his voice.

Tony rolls his eyes.

“And let me guess, he plied you with some stupid shtick that you deserve better, that you deserve to be waited upon, and your current boyfriend must be a total bastard for leaving you alone in a bar, looking the way that you do. Did you fuck him in the bathroom, Tony? I know you’re usually gagging for it-”

Tony’s fingers stretch out, curling like claws, like he’s about to wring him by the fucking throat.

“But you should have more sense than that, for fuck’s sake,” Ty says, hot and mocking. “This asshole could have cleaned you out, kept you in a fucking basement somewhere and just used as a fucking hole to get off in and a key to bank account that never runs out.”

“And that’s _your_ job, right?” Tony taunts.

“Don’t-” Ty turns purple with fury, “Don’t demean us. Don’t make us sound like we’re just-”

“You _hit_ me when I’m _drunk_ ,” Tony snarls, his mouth pulled back to reveal the shine and razor-sharp line of his teeth. “There is no more demeaning. You did that the first time you put your hands on me like _that_.”

“Well, did it ever occur to you that maybe it was necessary?” Ty asks, coldly.

Tony reels back in affront. “Excuse me?”

“Because you’re such a fucking disaster of a human being that I had no choice,” Ty tells him, snidely, a cruel twist to the shape of his handsome mouth. “That I had to _correct_ you, make you _better_ , because all you are otherwise is a fucking embarrassment, and there’s only so much of that and _you_ I can keep tolerating-”

“You know what, Ty,” Tony cuts him off cleanly, smiling a mean little smile. “You were right.”

Ty pauses.

“I did meet someone else,” Tony tells him. “I met him in a bar that night you threw me out onto the road, and I fucked him in the bathroom just like you said, and he made me come like three fucking times before I even let him inside me, and you know what, he was a better lay than you,” he taunts, his voice as corrosive as acid.

Ty looks at him, so hateful, so venomous, that it makes his blood run hot in his veins, and he sees Ty’s hand rise, and he’s bracing himself for the blow, his eyes clenched shut, for the pain to snap across his face, and then, there’s a splatter of something wet and warm and tasting of iron across his face, and when he opens his eyes with a startled noise, Ty is still standing there, just across from him.

Only, there’s a bullet between his eyes, and then, he’s going down, his expression flattened in shock.

Tony’s fingers touch his cheek, and they come back red, red with blood, _Ty’s blood_.

When he looks back, Ty is on the ground, his eyes open and blank, devoid of life.

A hand settles on his shoulder, and Tony’s gasping like he’s been punched, and rounding on the strange, tangible sensation, and it’s Bucky, Bucky standing right there, his expression an angry, fearsome thing, but his eyes so soft, so kind, like he wants to make everything better for Tony.

“You… you killed him,” he says, dazed.

“I did,” Bucky says, without missing a beat, without flinching, like it doesn’t bother him at all.

Well, he is an assassin, and he didn’t even know Ty, so Tony can’t exactly expect him to crumble into sorrow or grief or regret.

“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he says, carefully, a blade’s edge in his voice.

“He was going to hurt you,” Bucky says, his voice turning cold and dangerous. “I saw him. He was going to hit you. I wasn’t going to let him or anything else _hurt_ you, Tony.”

“How are you even here?” Tony demands, his voice sliding high.

Bucky shrugs. “I was coming to visit you, and then, your robot voice told me that you might be in trouble, but that he wasn’t allowed to intervene.”

It was an old protocol, as Tony remembers, instituted back when he was a child and he loved Ty and thought everything that Ty did to him, good or bad, was just part of love. He couldn’t bear the idea of Ty leaving him, so he made sure JARVIS wouldn’t intervene. He wonders how much that has hurt the closest thing that he has to a child in this world: the thought of not being able to protect him, the thought that Tony would walk willingly into abuse, all for love.

“You…” Tony’s throat flexes. “You didn’t have to kill my boyfriend, you know?” he says, faking the lightness in his voice. “I could've just broken up with him?”

Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “Are you really upset?”

Tony drags his teeth over his lip, dwelling on his dangerous thought.

If he admits the truth, if he admits that he put Ty away a long time ago, and while he still loved the man, loved him desperately, all he feels now is the sharp relief filling his body like lead, it makes him an awful person, doesn’t it?

“I suppose not,” Tony admits, grudgingly.

Bucky’s face softens. He cups Tony’s head in the palm of his big, deft hand, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

And then, he slants his mouth over Tony’s.

Tony kisses him back for a long, blissful moment, and then, he’s pulling away with a loud gasp.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

Bucky stares at him, his expression blank and devoid of regret. “Kissing you,” he says, bluntly.

“You just _killed_ my boyfriend,” Tony hisses.

“Yeah, and I thought we just established that you weren’t really cut up about that,” Bucky points out.

“His body is just _lying_ there!”

Bucky pauses over that, his expression growing thoughtful. “We could go to your room?” he offers.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not really what I meant,” he says, weakly.

“Are you sure because-”

“Can you carry me?” Tony interjects.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “You mean like a bridal carry?” he asks, confused.

“I was thinking more of letting me wrap my hands and legs around you like a tree,” Tony explains.

“Oh.” Bucky nods, firmly. “Yeah, I can do that. No problem at all.”

“Then, you may take me to my room,” Tony says, with a high, haughty tilt of his chin.

Bucky grins, shamelessly, all teeth, soft around his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks, hope shining in his voice.

Tony nods. _Oh, my God, I’m going to hell_ , he thinks, stubbornly not looking at Ty’s corpse on the floor of his living room.

“Great,” Bucky replies, easily, and lifts Tony like he’s made of cotton candy, and Tony yelps, wrapping his arms and legs around Bucky before he slips down to the ground. “Tell me where to go, or we’re just going to stand here.”

“Elevator,” Tony tells him and mouths at the hollow of his throat, where he can taste sweat and a sharp, burning scent like gunpowder, a scent he’s instinctively familiar with.

He sets his teeth on the tendon that joins Bucky’s neck and shoulder and bites down, making Bucky growl.

“I have wanted inside you since I first met you,” Bucky tells him.

Tony’s heart flutters in his chest. “Seriously?”

“You were so handsome in that penguin suit of yours, and your eyes were flashing, and you looked like you were going to choke me to death. I was smitten,” Bucky says, fondly.

“You are really weird,” Tony says, fighting back a smile.

“Because I get turned on by you getting so angry that you look like you want to shove a knife through my gut?” Bucky clarifies.

Tony nods.

Bucky shrugs. “Everyone has their kinks.” His eyes light up, as the elevator speeds them up to Tony’s bedroom. “So, what are yours, and please tell me I’m the first person to get inside your cool penthouse bedroom.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Dead boyfriend lying on the floor of my lounge, remember?”

Bucky pouts. “So, he was here before me?”

“If it makes you feel better, he doesn’t really like this place all that much,” Tony offers. “He has his own apartment in Manhattan, and that’s where we spent most of our time together.”

Bucky’s face scrunches up. “Why?”

“Because he was insecure about the fact that I make more money than him,” Tony replies, bluntly. “People tend to be two things, when it comes to my money: insecure or greedy.”

“I’m neither,” Bucky reassures.

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Assassins can make quite a bit too, you know.”

“Do you?” Tony asks, with a suspicious edge to his voice.

“I stole a lot of money out of HYDRA’s various bank accounts,” Bucky explains.

“Oh.” Tony pauses. “Good.” He points down the corridor. “This way. Mush!”

Bucky’s face scrunches up, but he follows Tony’s direction nonetheless.

He leads Tony to his bedroom, laying him out on the giant bed like he’s made of something precious. Bucky climbs on top of him, bears him down with all of that heavy, beautiful muscle of his, his hands on either side of his body. Tony drapes his arms around his neck and kisses him, just a fleeting press of his mouth against Bucky’s, as the heat begins to curl in his belly and spread outward, into his fingers and toes and making him hard in his jeans.

Bucky makes it more of a maul, clutching at him desperately, holding him hard enough to bruise, and he licks the taste of Tony out of his mouth, tongue working its way inside and behind his teeth, until Tony grasps at him, digs his nails into Bucky’s shoulders, under that leather jacket of his and the white shirt underneath, so he can slide his hands up and down his back.

“Fuck,” Tony curses, pitching his hips up so that Bucky can feel the hard line of his cock in his jeans.

Bucky moans grinds back down so that Tony can feel his erection as well. Tony shucks off Bucky’s jacket and then his shirt, so tight and thin that it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. His hands go to Bucky’s belt, undoing it from its loops and tossing it to join his jacket and shirt on the floor. He unzips Bucky’s jeans and drags them down his thighs, along with his underwear, shoving them off with the edges of his feet, leaving Bucky blissfully naked between his legs while he remains fully clothed.

Bucky pulls off him for a moment, frowning. “I’m beginning to think this a little one-sided,” he muses.

Tony smiles a shark’s smile, all teeth and plenty of bite. “What are you gonna do about it?” he asks, lasciviously.

Bucky tilts his head. “You know, you’re the first person I’ve had sex with since I was taken prisoner by HYDRA,” he tells him, casually.

Tony’s brow furrows. “Seriously?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Tony, doll, you might have realised something; I don’t like people,” he says, bluntly.

“I mean, it was a little obvious,” Tony muses. “You only ever showed up when there was, like, no one else around me.”

“That’s because I was only interested in you. I don’t like people, but I like _you_.”

Tony’s entire body floods with warmth, and he lets his eyes flutter shut in response, staring up at Bucky through the dip of his eyelashes.

“I want you inside me,” he says, simply.

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters, and Tony feels his cock twitch against the crease between groin and thigh.

Tony plants his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, pushing him up, watching with intent eyes as Bucky’s face twists up in surprise, makes him sit back on his haunches, so that Tony can take his clothes off, slowly, not particularly reminiscent of a strip tease but a genuine undertaking to get his clothes off so they can move onto the more adult parts of the night.

When Tony’s done, both of them are seated upon Tony’s humongous bed, legs folded underneath them, staring at each other.

“Well?” Tony lifts an eyebrow.

Bucky wrings his hands together. “Like I said, it’s the first time that I’ve done this in… well, years. I guess I’m just…” he hesitates for an awkward, lingering moment, “coming to terms with what I’m supposed to do.”

Tony stretches out and traces the patchwork of red, raw scars that remain around his shoulder down to the pectoral, where the metal arm joins in with the rest of his body.

“Is that okay?” he asks, softly, “if I touch you like this?”

Bucky’s throat flexes, visibly, and he nods.

“I like it, you know, your arm,” Tony tells him, softly.

“Yeah?” he says, carefully, uncertainly.

Tony shrugs. “I make weapons for a living. Metal… turns me on,” he says, blatantly, waggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” Bucky repeats, a smile broadening across his face.

“ _You_ turn me on,” Tony says, simply.

Bucky surges forward and presses his mouth against his, pushing him back down onto the mattress so that he can cover Tony’s body entirely with his own.

“I don’t think I can let you go after this,” Bucky confesses. “Is that creepy and obsessive and too much?”

“A little,” Tony admits, “but who said I want you to let me go?”

Bucky’s mouth quivers around his next smile. “Yeah?”

Tony leans forward to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. “Don’t let me go, Bucky,” he says, pressing his fingers to where Bucky’s pulse in his throat throbs painfully hard. “Don’t let me go.”

The muscles loosen in Bucky’s body, as if Tony had unburdened him of some great weight, gratified him in a way that an orgasm never could. Tony feels it too, feels it in his chest, in that cold heart of his that he didn’t think could beat hot ever again, and he has the sudden urge to pry open his ribcage, let Bucky sit within his heart, if it would make them closer than what they are in this moment.

His metal hand curls around the nape of Tony’s neck, keeping him pinned there, against Bucky’s mouth, and his free hand smooths down Tony’s body, exploring at will, easing up his spine, flattening across his belly, brushing against the insides of his thighs, curling around the back of his knees and hooking them around Bucky’s waist.

Bucky’s cock rubs up against the warm crease between thigh and groin, and it makes Tony impossibly hard, leaking pre-come in rivulets.

“I have lube,” Tony says, with a gasp, scrabbling for the drawer in the bedside table and fishing out the little tube.

He brandishes with a shout of triumph and hands it over to Bucky, who doesn’t hesitate to dribble a considerable portion onto his fingers and let his hand slip between Tony’s legs to nudge at his rim, easing one finger up to the knuckle. Tony tangles his fingers in the sheets, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he arches his back.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, as heat blooms all over his skin, “so much for you being inexperienced.”

Bucky laughs, mouthing at the bare curve of his shoulder as he adds a second finger, rubbing up against Tony’s insides in a way that makes him shudder from head to toe.

“I’m inexperienced,” he agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about this in _great_ detail.”

Tony lets his head fall back onto the pillow and groans as Bucky’s two fingers become three, twisting mercilessly, skirting the edge of pain. And then, the pads of his fingers catch his prostate, and it wrings a soft, desperate noise from the back of Tony’s throat as he seizes up around his fingers, his cock leaking pre-come in streaks all over his belly.

Tony lifts his head. “Are you seriously going to tease me?” he demands.

Bucky grins and withdraws his fingers, his lube-slick palm going straight to his own erection, while Tony’s hand trails down his flat belly to curl around the base of his cock. He pumps himself slow and deliberate as Bucky covers him, painfully beautiful in the frame of his thighs. Tony feels the blunt pressure of Bucky’s cock slide inside him, the first inch of Tony’s rim around his cock impossibly tight. Bucky slides in an inch, and then stops, his entire body shaking like he’s in the middle of a fit.

There’s sweat pooling at the nape of Tony’s neck, and his hands tighten around Bucky’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, softly.

Bucky swallows hard, resting his forehead against Tony’s. “I just… I guess I didn’t realise how intense it would be,” he admits, his voice shy and soft around the edges.

Tony drags his teeth over his lower lip, watching Bucky with volumes. “It’s like that for me too,” he offers.

“Yeah?” Bucky says, looking half-surprised but still having that same unbearable intensity he gets when he’s looking at Tony.

Tony presses his mouth to the high curve of Bucky’s cheekbone, then his eyelids for good measure. “Yeah.” He lets his head fall back onto the pillow, and gives Bucky an obscene, satisfied smile. “Don’t stop.”

Bucky’s hands tighten around Tony’s body, holding him close against his chest so that Tony can feel the sensation of his heart pounding against Tony’s. He starts pounding into Tony with no finesse, no skill, but the way his cock drags relentlessly across Tony’s prostate with every thrust makes Tony clench and throb around him, his mouth landing on Tony’s sweat-shiny one again and again until Tony is dissolving into a flustered mess.

Bucky starts filling him deeper, rougher, and the throbbing changes, the heat changes, becomes this alive, sweltering thing in his belly that stretches into the backs of his eyes and his cock, the stretch and burn dragging the air out of his lungs.

Bucky curses against his shoulder at the tight fit of Tony’s body around him, and grinds his hips forward, ripping another pulse of pleasure from Tony’s body. The rhythm is furious and clumsy and somehow familiar, and it’s everything that he’s wanted since he felt Bucky’s whole body surround him in that bathroom, and for a brief moment, he imagine crawling into Bucky’s body and never leaving him again.

He clutches at Bucky hard, so hard that his nails bite into Bucky’s skin, dragging down, leaving long claw marks down his spine, the only, desperate mark that he can make on Bucky’s body to make him feel like he owns this man, this kind, hurt man.

Bucky’s hips snap forward in a sharp thrust, with a rough grunt, and Tony feels the rasp of Bucky’s chest hair rubbing up against his abdomen, and then, he’s coming, his orgasm washing over him a sudden, terrible rush that makes his world reduce to a single point, and he’s shaking right down to his fingers and toes.

He arches his back, something hot and damp painting his nails, and he realises that he’d scratched Bucky hard enough to draw blood. Bucky’s rhythm stutters and falters between his thighs, and Bucky comes as well, with a short, punched-out groan against his skin, in response to the unbelievable, uncontrollable fluttering of his rim around his cock, and there’s a warm wash of heat against Tony’s thighs when Bucky finally withdraws from his body.

Bucky settles on his back beside Tony’s panting, sweat-damp form.

Tony pats him on the chest. “That was very good. I give you A+++ in effort. I haven’t had an orgasm like that in a while,” he muses.

Bucky turns onto his side, propping his head on an upturned palm. “Only effort?” he asks, with a narrowed gaze.

Tony looks at him through his long, dark lashes. “You did admit that you haven’t done this since you were taken by HYDRA. How long ago was that?”

“Seven years.”

Tony looks thoughtful. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“Excuse you,” Bucky says, hotly. “Are you trying to say I don’t have mad sex skills?”

“You’ll get there one day, champ,” Tony says, with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Bucky growls low in his throat, like a feral animal, and jumps him, rolling on top of him and kissing him hard and reckless, making Tony laugh and thrash in his grip.

After a long, blissful moment of kissing and bright, beautiful hunger, Tony pulls away with a gasp, his eyes big and round as the moon in his face.

“Oh, my God, Ty’s still downstairs,” he says, guilt sliding into his voice. “Oh, my God, I just had sex with you while my dead boyfriend’s corpse littering the floor of my lounge room.”

Bucky pulls back with his eyebrow raised. “So?”

“So?” Tony demands, incredulously. “Don’t you think that’s a _little_ fucked up?”

Bucky shrugs. “Your dead boyfriend was a dick,” he says, bluntly.

Tony’s face scrunches up because he’s having difficulty denying that.

Bucky sighs and smooths his thumb over Tony’s cheekbone. “This is really bothering you, huh?” he asks, sympathetically.

Tony sticks his lower lip out in a pout.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky says, long-sufferingly, crawling off Tony’s body and the bed. “I’ll take care of it.”

He stands, unashamed by his nudity.

Tony sits up. “What are you going to do?” he asks, half-curious and half-terrified.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “I’m probably going to chop him up into little pieces and feed him to these pigs at this farm I know upstate. Pigs will actually eat anything, as long as I shave him and remove all of his teeth before I cut him up.”

Bile rises in Tony’s throat, sour and bitter, his stomach churning at the image that Bucky’s words invoke.

Clearly, his face must show it because Bucky’s face turns apologetic.

“Sorry, was I not supposed to say that?” he asks, uneasily.

Tony shrugs. “I mean, in future, I don’t really have a problem with you killing people, and I don’t really have a problem with you killing Ty either, because he was an evil bastard who liked to hit me, but I don’t really need to know how you…” he flutters his hands in the air, anxiously, “you know, deal with the after-effects, you know?”

Bucky stands at attention and even offers him a little salute. “Understood.”

Tony offers him a little smile. “How long do you think it’ll take you?”

Bucky shrugs. “A couple of hours at most, but because of the rot, I should probably head off to that farm after I’m done.”

Tony pouts. “So, you’d be leaving?”

“Unfortunately.”

Tony sighs and stretches out languidly across the sheets, sending Bucky a _come hither_ look. “Then, you better get back over here and show me that skill of yours you were talking about.”

Bucky strikes a pose. “You doubting me, doll?”

Tony spreads his legs, revealing his swollen, shiny rim, and dips his fingers there to be deliberately provocative, stretching himself for Bucky’s and his pleasure.

Bucky eyes the door, and then at the sight that Tony makes on his bed.

“You aren’t going to be able to walk after I’m done with you,” he declares, amusement ripe in his voice.

“Bold words for someone who’s standing all the way over there,” Tony taunts, with a look that straddles the line between insolence and pleasure.

He yelps when Bucky is suddenly on top of him, pinning him to the mattress, and then all he knows is Bucky’s tongue, his fingers, his cock, and he thinks that he will never let Bucky leave this bed ever again.


End file.
